Home – he has not seen it in over four years.


She looks just the same as he remembers, and yet curiously different all at once. The fetid stench of the swamp still burns his nose in the most abhorrent way, the humidity still clings to his skin like a virus he can’t shake, especially with summer’s unreasonably high temperatures. His hooves threaten to sink into the soupy mud beneath him if he stands for too long, and so he presses on through the densely wooded area, the fog of the early morning making way for the crimson figure.


Eerie eyes of gold and black shift as they search, straining through the veil of fog for the things he remembers, for the things he knows must still be there; the symbols etched scrupulously into the bark of an old tree, painted crudely across the rocks, even the old trails he remembers using during his adolescence. Tinea Swamp was a place he had frequented during his time spent here many moons ago, for it had boasted many of the ingredients required for his teachings at the hospital as well as his personal research. He’d passed those old Ilati symbols countless times before, had witnessed some of their creation, so why can’t he find them now? They’re there, he’s sure, even though he struggles to find them now – perhaps the poison had tainted more than just his appearance.


Briefly, he stops at the water’s edge. Despite the intense fumes constantly rising up and wafting into his face, Atreus looks down into the depths which are far clearer than one might expect from a swampy bog. Where one’s eyes might narrow at the sight of his reflection, his is unchanging, taking in the differences both subtle and obvious between now and then. Much has happened in the span of his nearly five year absence, and idly he wonders if he’ll recognize anyone, if anyone that continued to reside in Terrastella will recognize him.


Truly, the half-blood doesn’t care either way – he’s merely curious – and after another moment of silent pondering, he abandons the musty pool behind him and heads south with the citadel on his mind.


ooc - Come and say hello to the Ilati poison master!! :D First posts with new characters are the literal worst - bear with me! <3

He wouldn’t make it far before a noise from behind halted him in his tracks. The way he turns to face whoever, or whatever it was is borderline lazy, as though the roan harbors not an ounce of fear for these swamps. His expression, however, comes to life from the moment his unearthly gaze reaches his newfound company. No specter of the wilds is she, no kelpie nor even a bog titan, as unfortunate the fact is – he had been hoping for a warm welcome home, after all.


Rather, she is a lady of pale lavender and ivory splashes with eyes that glow gently with mirth. It’s nearly comical, just how out of place she seems against the backdrop of the swamp, a gleaming light against the horrors of the night. She isn’t familiar to him, and he would assume her heritage doesn’t extend to the Ilati by her looks as well as her approach alone. Perhaps she is simply a woman of Terrastella, joining her ranks during his absence?


A charming smile curls the corners of his dark lips upwards and light up his features, a stark contrast to its appearance just moments prior. “What a pleasant surprise,” he said in way of greeting, the words falling from a well-practiced, urbane tone. At his sides, wings of carmine and alabaster rise ever so slightly in a fashion similar to a man tipping his hat. “I was beginning to think this cesspool of leeches and murky water was lacking of any beauty whatsoever – but it occurs to me that I may have been incorrect in my thinking.”


Atreus pauses then, regarding the woman with a nearly eager look as he awaits her reply. Would he be correct in his earlier assumptions, or would he find himself once again wrong?

She looks borderline bashful in the wake of his words. The man’s own grin lengthened and as anyone might, he expects an immediate response to them – however, it doesn’t come. His brows furrow and dark lips draw back questioningly, taut with mild confusion as the silence lingers. Already his expeditious mind has set to prepare a response of his own, when suddenly the girl produces a notebook from a small satchel hanging from her side. Curious, indeed, but Atreus waited patiently as she penned the words that, unbeknownst to him, she could not speak.


’My name is Fiona,’ came the beginning of her written response when it was presented, ’I was born mute.’ His eyes, rotten black and purest gold, flash with realization as he reads on. ’It is a pleasure to meet you.’


Despite his innumerable ventures, Atreus failed to recall a time when he had come across somebody who was mute. He couldn’t imagine a life like that – his own voice was a favorite thing of his, after all – but it was no matter.


”Oh, but the pleasure is all mine, Lady Fiona.” The words are insistent, sumptuous in the way they roll off his silvered tongue, ”You are a light within this dismal place, certainly.” In the back of his corrupted mind, a part of him is disappointed; these swamps that had once welcomed him so warmly now seem void of the alluring group he’d once loosely considered family, and it had been one of them he’d hoped to be greeted by, and he greatly doubts the lavender mare to be affiliated with them in any manner. Still, as lovely as Fiona’s darling smile is, even if she cannot speak from it, perhaps she can help shed some light as to what has happened in the span of the past four years in time.


Then, his eyes settle on the flowers in the equally colorful girl’s possession. With an experienced eye he looks them over – rose pogonias, narrowleaf sunflowers, and what appears to be blue flag irises – and he hums with genuine curiosity beneath his breath. ”That’s quite the collection you have there. Picking them for a friend?” He pauses momentarily, allowing her the opportunity to respond either by action or another written message before continuing, begging the real question. ”Or, perhaps you might be one of the grand healers hailing from fair Terrastella?”

While he could only make his best assumption of the things Fiona was trying to convey, the crimson male felt his guess was as good as any when she turned to a page near the end of her booklet and exposed its contents. Flowers, pressed expertly into the pages with various bits of information written beside each petal. It was impressive, really, and Atreus wondered briefly if she might have any connection to the infamous hospital. Did she contribute to the vitally important literature held within its walls? Provide research for students to study?

Before much thought could be given to it, however, she reclaimed the notebook and took to writing once more.

To be of Ilati blood was not necessarily a good thing. The people of Novus and the lands surrounding had always whispered of them, many spinning tales that may or may not be true, often in the attempt to scare their children into listening or spook their friends in the dark of night. The Ilati weren’t a group that was particularly well understood and definitely not respected by the masses, at least not in Atreus’ experiences. And so, when the lavender girl flipped her notepad around with the name of his family scrawled neatly across one page, Atreus was stupefied. Fiona certainly didn’t look like the typical Ilati type, then yet again, neither did he.

He didn’t know of this Florentine, but immediately he found himself intrigued and yearning to change that. ”Most interesting,” he remarked with a hum that was borderline amused, his lips pursed in a thoughtful expression before his eyes of black and gold came to rest entirely on Fiona once more.

Then, with his nose he gestured to the south, where he remembered the capitol of Terrastella to be. ”I don’t mean to inconvenience you, dear Fiona, but would you care to escort me back to the capitol? Perhaps you could show me to this Florentine, or regale me with who these Ilati are on our way.”

There was so much he had missed, as was bound to happen when he had been absent for just over four years. Perhaps this would be the best way to get a grip on everything he had missed.